Chapter 20
Silas
The emergency call came through at two in the afternoon, shattering the fragile peace we’d been building for the past thirty-six hours.
I was at Dane’s kitchen table when my radio went off, trying to figure out how to be part of a pack when my default mode was keeping people at arm’s length through humor and performance.
Trying to reconcile my scent-sensitivity, which was already overwhelming me with everyone’s complicated emotions, with the new pack bonds that made those emotions even more intense.
Trying to pretend I wasn’t terrified this whole thing would fall apart the moment reality intruded.
The radio call made everything sharp and clear. This I understood. Emergency response. People who needed help. The job that defined me.
“I have to go,” I said, already standing.
Sable was on her feet immediately, her coordinator instincts overriding whatever complicated pack dynamic we’d been trying to navigate. “I’m coming with you. Margaret’s been handling things, but a structural collapse with multiple casualties requires senior coordination.”
“You’re supposed to be recovering,” Dane said, but he was already moving toward his gear. County sheriff meant he responded to major incidents too.
“I’m recovered enough.” Sable’s voice carried absolute certainty. “People are hurt. We’re needed. That’s what matters.”
Beau appeared from upstairs where he’d been trying to sleep off his own exhaustion. “Fire response?”
“Structural collapse at the timber mill,” I confirmed. “Sounds like it’s going to be bad.”
We moved as a unit without discussing it.
Sable grabbing her coordinator gear from where she’d stashed it by the door.
Dane checking his tactical equipment with the efficiency of someone who’d done it a thousand times.
Beau already on his phone coordinating with the fire station.
Me running through medical supply inventory in my head, calculating what I’d need for multiple trauma cases.
The drive back to town was tense. Through my scent-sensitivity and the new pack bonds, I could feel everyone’s emotional state like it was my own.
Sable’s professional focus mixed with lingering exhaustion.
Dane’s tactical assessment mode overlaying his protective instincts toward Sable.
Beau’s determination fighting against the guilt that never quite left him.
And underneath all of it, the awareness that this was our first emergency response as a bonded pack. That people would see the claiming bites. That we’d have to function professionally while wearing visible proof of what we’d done during the storm.
“We don’t hide it,” Sable said suddenly, like she’d been reading my thoughts. Maybe she had been. The bonds worked both ways. “The bites, the pack formation, none of it. We do our jobs and if people have questions, they can ask them after the emergency is handled.”
“Agreed,” Dane said. “Professional first. Personal second.”
The timber mill was chaos when we arrived.
The old structure had partially collapsed, trapping workers inside and creating a maze of unstable beams and debris.
Fire crews were already on scene, as was an ambulance, but it was immediately clear that this was going to require more resources than initially dispatched.
Sable took one look at the scene and shifted into coordinator mode.
“Beau, I need structural assessment. Where can we safely work and where do we need to stay clear. Dane, crowd control and security perimeter. Keep civilians back and manage family members. Silas, triage. I need to know how many wounded, severity levels, and resource requirements.”
“Copy that,” we said in unison, and I saw Margaret, who was already on scene, do a double-take at the coordination.
Then I saw her notice the claiming bites on all our necks.
Her expression shifted through surprise, understanding, and then something that looked like approval. But she didn’t comment, just moved to support Sable’s coordination without missing a beat.
“EMS, this is Coordinator Wynn,” Sable said into her radio, her voice calm and authoritative. “We have a structural collapse with at least twelve trapped workers. Dispatch additional ambulances from County General and activate mutual aid from Millbrook. This is now a mass casualty incident.”
I moved into the debris field, my medical bag already open, my senses immediately overwhelmed with pain and fear and desperation.
My scent-sensitivity was both blessing and curse in situations like this.
I could identify who needed help most urgently based on their emotional state, could feel when someone was going into shock before the physical symptoms appeared.
But I also felt all of their suffering like it was my own.
The first victim was a beta male, pinned under a beam with obvious crush injuries to his legs. Conscious, alert, in significant pain.
“I’m Silas, I’m a paramedic,” I said, kneeling beside him. “I’m going to take care of you. What’s your name?”
“Tom. Tom Rodriguez.” His voice was tight with pain. “Can’t feel my legs. That’s bad, right?”
“Let’s not borrow trouble before we know what we’re dealing with.
” I started my assessment, checking vitals, evaluating the crush injury, determining if we could safely move him or if we needed heavy rescue first. Through my sensitivity, I could feel his fear.
Not just about the injury, but about his family.
“Family?” I asked while working.
“Wife, three kids. Oldest is twelve.” His eyes found mine. “I need to be okay. They need me to be okay.”
“Then we’re going to make sure you’re okay.” I made the decision quickly. “Beau, I need heavy rescue at my position. We’ve got crush injuries, patient is stable for now, but we need to lift this beam before we can move him.”
Beau’s response came immediately. “Copy that. En route with equipment.”
I moved to the next victim while waiting for extraction support. Another beta, this one with obvious head trauma and decreased consciousness. Critical. This one needed immediate transport.
“Medical One, this is Vance. I need immediate transport for a head trauma, GCS of 10, likely intracranial bleed. Who’s available?”
“Medical Three can take him,” Owen’s voice came back. My partner for the day. “I’m staging at the perimeter.”
“Copy. Bringing patient to you now.”
I worked through the debris field systematically, triaging each victim according to severity. Green tags for walking wounded. Yellow for serious but stable. Red for critical requiring immediate intervention. And one black tag for the older alpha male we found too late, crushed by falling machinery.
That one hurt. Through my sensitivity, I could feel the absence where his life had been. Could feel the grief his packmates would carry. Could feel the failure even though there was nothing anyone could have done.
“Silas.” Sable’s voice in my ear, gentle but firm. “I need you focused. We have eleven more people who need you present, not grieving the one we lost.”
She was right. The bonds meant she could feel when my emotions started spiraling. Could pull me back before I got lost in the empathy overload that came with my sensitivity.
“Copy that,” I said, and kept moving.
Two hours into the response, we’d extracted all victims, transported the most critical, and were in the process of treating the minor injuries on site.
Beau had proven his coordination with fire rescue was flawless.
Dane had managed the crowd with calm authority while simultaneously documenting everything for his official report.
And Sable had coordinated the entire operation without missing a single detail.
We worked together like we’d been a pack for years instead of days.
“That was impressive,” Margaret said, approaching Sable as we moved into recovery phase. “The four of you. I’ve never seen that level of coordination during a multi-agency response.”
“Thank you,” Sable said, and I caught the hint of surprise in her voice. Like she’d expected judgment instead of praise.
“I’m assuming the claiming bites are recent?” Margaret asked directly. “I noticed them on all of you.”
Here it was. The moment where we’d find out how the professional community would react to our pack formation.
“Two days ago,” Sable confirmed, her voice steady despite the nerves I could feel through the bond. “During the storm response. We’re still figuring out the logistics, but our professional coordination isn’t affected.”
“I can see that,” Margaret said. “If anything, you four function better than most established packs I’ve worked with. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
The relief that flooded through Sable hit me like a wave through our bond. She’d been so worried about professional repercussions, about judgment, about losing respect she’d worked years to build.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Don’t thank me. Thank yourselves for being good at your jobs.” Margaret glanced around the scene. “Though I’m guessing the town response is going to be more complicated than the professional one.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “Small towns have opinions.”
“Let them have opinions,” Dane said, appearing beside us with that quiet intensity he brought to everything. “We do our jobs well. We support each other. That’s all that matters.”
“Easy for you to say,” Sable muttered, but I felt her drawing strength from the bond. From knowing we stood together.
Captain Rhodes appeared, looking for Beau. When she spotted us, her expression shifted through the same sequence Margaret’s had. Surprise, understanding, approval.
“So you four finally figured it out,” she said, a smile playing at her lips. “About damn time. Beau’s been pining like a lovesick puppy for weeks.”
“I have not,” Beau protested, but his neck went red.
“You absolutely have,” Rhodes said cheerfully. “You’ve been bringing her coffee every morning like it was a sacred ritual. The entire station knew you were gone for her.”
Through the bond, I felt Beau’s embarrassment mixing with something warmer. Pride, maybe, that his feelings had been that obvious. That he’d been willing to show vulnerability even before the bonding.
“Well, it worked,” I said, because someone needed to rescue him. “She kept him.”
“She kept all of us,” Dane corrected.
Rhodes’s expression softened. “Good. You all needed someone to keep you. Especially you, Calder. You’ve been punishing yourself for three years over something that wasn’t your fault. Maybe now you’ll finally let yourself be happy.”
“Working on it,” Beau said quietly.
The debrief took another hour. We documented everything, filled out incident reports, coordinated with the hospital about patient status, and made sure all equipment was accounted for and returned to proper locations.
Professional. Efficient. Exactly what we’d trained for.
But underneath it all, I could feel the pack bonds humming.
Could feel how we’d slipped into working as a unit without consciously deciding to.
Could feel how Sable’s coordination, Beau’s rescue expertise, Dane’s security management, and my medical skills had layered together into something stronger than any of us working alone.
“This is what we are,” I said when we finally piled back into Dane’s truck for the drive back to the house. “We’re a team. Maybe we don’t know how to do the domestic stuff yet, but we know how to function when it matters. That’s a start.”
“That’s more than a start,” Sable said from the front seat. She turned to look at all three of us, and I saw the certainty in her dark amber eyes. “That’s proof that this works. That we work. When it actually matters, we’re solid.”
“So we just need to figure out the other ninety percent of pack life,” Beau said dryly. “The boring domestic parts where we’re not responding to emergencies.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Dane said with his usual tactical certainty. “One day at a time. One decision at a time. Together.”
Through the bonds, I felt everyone’s agreement. Felt the fear mixing with hope, the uncertainty mixing with determination. Felt that we were all terrified and committed in equal measure.
Felt like maybe we really could build something that worked.
When we got back to the house, exhaustion hit all of us simultaneously. The adrenaline crash after emergency response combined with still recovering from heat and bonding. Sable looked ready to fall asleep standing up.
“Food first,” I said, because someone had to be practical. “Then sleep. We can process everything else later.”
“I’m too tired to eat,” Sable protested.
“Not optional,” Dane said, already moving toward the kitchen. “You need fuel. All of you do.”
We ate leftover pasta that Dane heated up, too tired for conversation, just the comfort of being together after a successful response. Of knowing we’d functioned well under pressure. Of proving to ourselves and each other that the bonds didn’t make us weaker or more complicated.
They made us stronger.
“I’m proud of us,” Sable said when we’d finished eating. “Today was hard, and we handled it. Together.”
“First crisis as a bonded pack,” Silas observed. “We passed the test.”
“There will be other tests,” Dane warned. “Harder ones. Situations where our pack bonds might complicate professional responses. We need to be prepared for that.”
“Later,” Sable said firmly. “Right now, we’re going to acknowledge that we did well. That we proved something important. That we’re more than just biology and heat. We’re a functional unit.”
“To functional units,” I said, raising my water glass.
“To us,” Beau added.
We clinked glasses like idiots, exhausted and proud and terrified and hopeful. Like the disaster pack we were, learning to be something better together than we’d been alone.
And through the bonds, I felt the truth of it. We were going to make mistakes. We were going to struggle with the domestic parts and the emotional vulnerability and all the complicated aspects of four independent people learning to share their lives.
But we’d show up for each other. Keep proving ourselves through action instead of words. Keep building something worth the risk we’d all taken.
That was enough to start with.